


The Magic of Destiny

by eurydice72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: Pre-series. For Hunith, it's just an intimate moment, granting him this small request. For Balinor, it's so much more.





	The Magic of Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble, prompt #365: "writing on the body"

Her laughter rings throughout the cottage. “That tickles!”

But when her body twists in reflex, Balinor rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. Sure enough, Hunith instantly stills.

“I’m almost done,” he says. “Unless…you wish me to stop?”

He holds his breath, waits for her response. He only exhales when she shakes her head, her eyes luminous and lovely as she gazes up at him with so much trust.

Carefully, he dips his brush back into the dark blue dye. Nobody will see it under her dress, only Hunith when she changes, and it won’t last longer than a fortnight, but it will do the trick, reminding her of their time together now and later when his magic comes to fruition. Even if someone does see the words he’s leaving on her flesh, nobody is likely to understand. Few in this forgotten village are literate. 

Hunith is. His beautiful, blithe Hunith. She won’t always be so carefree. He has seen enough to know his absence will change her. But it can’t be helped, not if he wants to keep her safe, not if he wants her future secure.

He finishes the last stroke with a graceful flourish, then blows across her soft skin of her stomach. She will think it’s to help the dye set more quickly, but it serves to activate the magic, too. The soft intake of her breath comes with an array of goose bumps, and his own blood warms at the hints of what is to come. They must wait for the words to dry, of course, but in the interim, he can relish the memory of what her supple body feels like curved into his, how her strong muscles belie the delicacy of her frame.

When she reaches to touch his face, he leans into her touch. “Thank you for letting me do this,” he whispers and presses a kiss to her palm.

“Silly man.”

She says it like it’s nothing, and perhaps for her it is, but for Balinor, knowing he can offer this one measure of protection means the world. The spell is minor. When the dye fades, so will Hunith’s memory of it.

But Balinor will know. This is what he needs to gather the strength to leave her behind. His unborn child will live long enough to fulfill the destiny that awaits him or her.

Balinor only wishes he could be there to see it all.


End file.
